


Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

by stonelions



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Illustrated, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonelions/pseuds/stonelions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brief, unabashed post-Inquisition domestic fluff, with a side of Cullen fretting and Dorian distracting him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [COLD HANDS, WARM HEART](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3189986) by [spicyshimmy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyshimmy/pseuds/spicyshimmy), [stonelions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonelions/pseuds/stonelions). 



> A mini follow-up to Cold Hands, Warm Heart. A sort of glimpse into their future, which of course includes Turnip the mabari.

  


There was snow falling outside the window. Moonlight silhouetted the drifting flakes, casting tiny shadows in the bedroom. 

Dorian sighed next to him, and Cullen huddled closer against his back. 

“Awake too?” Dorian whispered. 

“I fear so.” 

Turnip grumbled at the foot of the bed, where she was sprawled over Cullen’s legs fast asleep. It would be freeing, Cullen thought, to be a dog with no concept of the future. Nothing to fear except the immediate, the imminent. Wanting only food to put in your belly and a soft place to sleep, other warm bodies nearby to bump against in the night for comfort. No worries about what the morning might bring.

No room in a dog’s mind to consider departures, or separation. Not that it wouldn’t be difficult for her, after the fact. She’d search, Cullen knew. Dogs always searched for the ones they lost.

He pressed his face into the nape of Dorian’s neck. 

“I know, I know...” Dorian reached back and patted Cullen’s flank, then left his hand there. “A month, that’s all. I promise. Maybe a little longer.”

In the grand scheme, a month was nothing. It would be over in a blink, and Cullen would look out the study window one afternoon and see Dorian riding up the road in brand new robes. They’d been separated for longer stretches before, during the Inquisition. Somehow they’d weathered the absences—and one quite serious fight—to wind up here, in bed together in a drafty room at an old vineyard that was now _their_ vineyard, chosen by both of them as the place they wanted to call home.

But Cullen would worry. He was already worrying. 

“It’s been some time since we were separated,” he said. “Not since I took ill.” 

Dorian stretched his legs and turned over, putting them face to face. “You’re doing much better, now,” he said. “I mean, you’ve gotten quite fat, so that’s excellent.” 

“Dorian!” 

“Now now, I said it was excellent. I intend it as a compliment!” 

“I feel I must tell you that ‘you’ve gotten fat’ isn’t generally regarded as a compliment here in the south.”

“Well, that’s how _I_ meant it. It suits you. And it seems to be an accurate measure of your health. Don’t lose it all while I’m away, either, I’ll feel cruel.” He ran fingers through Cullen’s hair, then kissed him. “Look after yourself, Amatus. Please.” 

“I’ll...do my best.” 

There were the animals to see to, day by day. Hunting to be done. It was getting too cold for building: the planned additions to the house would have to wait until spring. There were minor repairs to make, which Cullen would attend to before the snows came in earnest. Real winter was still a few weeks away. He disliked the idea of Dorian traveling anywhere in the off season, given the potential dangers, but where he was going the weather would be fine and mild, or so he kept insisting when Cullen fretted. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be safe?” Cullen asked. There were concerns aside from the weather. Like Tevinter’s dubious position on two men in love. “I would never presume myself important enough to be the subject of foreign gossip, but...surely they’ll know about us?” 

“Oh, they know. They’ll talk.” Dorian traced his fingers along Cullen’s side. “But I’m a harbinger of radical social change, remember? The lunatic who denounced his family and ran away to join a foreign military force which, thankfully, saved the world. It does give one a certain prestige, that saving the world business. Nothing else like it, in fact, when it comes to defending your position. Even Imperium politicians will have to concede _that_ point.” 

Dorian could handle himself. Rationally, Cullen knew he could, and believed it. But caring for someone the way he cared for Dorian... Rationality often fell by the wayside. 

“It’s only... If something were to happen, I’d...” 

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Dorian said. “But I’ve been meaning to say, if you fall ill again I’m ordering you to send word, immediately. If I come back and find you sick in bed I’m going to be furious with you. I might even divorce you.” 

Cullen chuckled. “You would never. You’d be by my bedside holding my hand, reading aloud to me from whatever books you bring back.” 

“I would not!” Dorian said, indignant. He was smiling. 

“Liar.” Cullen nosed his cheek, and they kissed. “I was never so afflicted as to not realize you were with me the whole time I lay prone in the infirmary.” He’d spent a few days walking a very fine line, the healers had told him later, and weeks longer with fluid on the lungs. He’d never coughed so wretchedly in all his life. Dorian had seen him through it, kept him wrapped in several fine tunics and close to fireplaces at all times. 

A soft tsk. “Fever dreams. Romantic nonsense.” 

Cullen cupped Dorian’s jaw and kissed him again. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I know. Living without me _will_ be difficult. I do liven the place up.” 

“Dorian...” He was used to the deflections by now, but every so often it wore him down. 

“Right, we’re being serious. Missed my cue,” Dorian paused for a beat. “You could still come with me, you know. I’d show you around, dress you up, show you off; we could royally infuriate my parents by refusing to see them. You could bring your Inquisition cloak—I know you haven’t gotten rid of it, even though you told me you would—and we could strike horror into the hearts of the nobility with our deviant and unfashionable southern ways.”

Cullen butted their foreheads together, hard enough that Dorian laughed and said, “Ouch.” 

“You know I’m needed here. And unwanted, there. You’ll have a difficult enough time being taken seriously without the Inquisition’s fat former general hanging off your arm.”

“Hardly. You clean up well, don’t pretend otherwise.” 

Cullen shook his head. He was tired. Staying awake wouldn’t keep morning from coming, a lesson he’d never learned the full truth of in spite of repeating it a thousand times over. 

“I’m going to miss you, too,” Dorian spoke softly. “But I need my beauty sleep, and you need your rest.” 

“I see.” Cullen covered a yawn. He nestled closer to Dorian, shifting until they were stomach to stomach, legs intertwined. “I’m waking you early, then. I should like to make love to you once more before you go.” 

Dorian’s fingers slid from Cullen’s side to his ass. “Why not twice more, for good measure? I _am_ going to be gone for a whole month...” 

“True. Point taken,” Cullen replied. He moved to roll on top of Dorian and suddenly remembered the sleeping dog at the foot of the bed. “What about the...” 

“Ignore her,” Dorian urged.

“But—

Lips covered his, the fine hairs of Dorian’s mustache tickling his nose. Dorian rolled his hips, leg muscles working, hands kneading into Cullen’s back. “Cullen...” he said. 

So Cullen ignored the dog, and she slept on, oblivious.


End file.
